


Unsurety

by goldpeak



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt, Grief, Grieving, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, John Laurens - Freeform, Longing, Love, M/M, Past, Reminiscing, Sadness, unknown - Freeform, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 03:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13425552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldpeak/pseuds/goldpeak
Summary: But in the back of his mind, every day, he had the hope that one day- one day, he’d come back- miraculously, out of the blue-.John knew that day would never come- but if it did, he knew he’d never let go of Alex ever again.





	1. Reflection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is such a vent. a hard vent. directly extracted from my life vent. oy.

He never used to drink coffee. Never had before. Never had a reason to.

Until he did.

He didn’t do it for the caffeine kick. He did it for the thought connected to the coffee. He didn’t do it for the taste, which he- frankly- disliked. He did it because _he_ always had.

Starting the morning with a warm cup of coffee in his hands brought back memories of a nicer time, before _everything_ happened.

He used to sleep a full night. 10:30 to 5:30. 7 hours. Well-rested.

 _He_ never did. 3:30 – 5:30 tended to be more his style. 2 hours. Not-rested.

After _it_ happened, he found himself staying up later and later- without intention. He’d glance at the clock and it’d be past midnight and from then on, he had understood how _he_ did it so easily.

He moved out. He had moved out right after _it_ happened because even standing in the living room they used to share brought back too many memories that were never to be brought back- not ever.

That didn’t stop him from driving by the old apartment on the evenings, before he went home, just for the sake of it- to see if he could still get there from any point in the city- he could.

His heart constricted in his chest every time he saw a light on in their old window- maybe _he_ was in there. He never was.

The bad days felt like someone had tossed him into the ocean without a lifesaver. Wave after wave of memories pulled him down, yanked him down- suffocated him.

He always made it back up. Somehow.

 _He_ hadn’t.

He could never find peace. Not while he himself was in pieces. There were nights where he found himself sat on the floor, leaning against the bedframe and scrolling through a photo album on his phone and crying.

There were also nights where he curled up in the corner of the room and let sobs wrack his body until he couldn’t feel or see anymore.

As soon as he left his room- his house, even- the emotions disappeared. Back to the corner of the mind where they came from in the first place. Demons retreating at the sight of sunlight.

He’d go to work. Spend the day doing lectures, assigning homework, grading papers- while the emotions receded, he always felt a wave of them wash back in every time he stepped through his classroom doors because they used to be _his_ classroom doors.

His kids knew it, too. The students, that is. Every time they looked at the board- the words and the date written on it that he never erased- because _he_ wrote them. Every time they looked at the board they were reminded. Some cared. Some were indifferent.

Every day, without fail, as soon as the last bell rang and his kids left the room and he turned to his desk- a wave of dizziness would crash over him and he’d brace himself on his desk and breathe- in and then out- until the mental images disappeared and he could sit down without beginning to choke on his own breath.

The lack of surety in the circumstances were what really got to him. If he had a conclusive answer, he could begin to move on. Accept _his_ death- but in reality, it was only _presumed_ death.

But in the back of his mind, every day, he had the hope that one day- one day, he’d come back- miraculously, out of the blue-.

John knew that day would never come- but if it did, he knew he’d never let go of _Alex_ ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if y'all like my writing go check out my other story it's called (Not) A Chance In Hell and its happier and nobody dies- or is presumed to die... as of this point in the story.


	2. Consciousness

He had never been ready for it. Never been close to ready for it. He’d never been ready for _him_ to be gone, and he’d never been ready for _him_ to come back.

He hadn’t accepted it. He realized it, but hadn’t accepted it. Accepting it meant he was at peace with it. He was not. He was suffering, he was miserable, his mind was a mess and it was unhealthy but he had realized it and was okay with it. He was coping. Barely, but he was coping, and he was going to make it. Barely. But he would.

That whole plan had crashed to the ground in one quick instance.

His cellphone had rung. He’d picked it up. The call had read ‘Detective Mulligan.’

His throat had closed up and he had squeezed his poor phone so tight his fingers felt like the bones would break from the skin- but he hadn’t answered, and he’d deleted the voicemail before it finished downloading.

He knew why he was calling. It was two years. Two years since the _incident_.

He had called in late for work. He had known that seeing _his_ writing on the board would be too much and he couldn’t break down in front of his kids.

He’d called back and recanted his previous statement with the excuse- ‘I’m feeling fine now, sir.’

Because he knew that while he was feeling it the most- the worst- a few of his students would be feeling it too- and it wasn’t fair for him to ditch out on them.

He’d started to cry the second he had walked through the door. He sat at his desk and put his head in his hands and sobbed unapologetically into his palms until the first bell, when he’d sat up and dabbed at his eyes with a tissue and unlocked his door.

Two of the first kids in took their seats in the front row, glanced at the board- saw the date- not the current one, the one from two years ago- but today, the month and date matched.

They’d begun to cry, too. One kid cried silently, hiding half his face in his jacket sleeve. The other had put her head in her arms and her shoulders had shaken.

Still teary-eyed himself, John had walked over and patted him on the back and soothed her- through his own hiccups and sniffles- until the tardy bell had rung and he had to go take attendance.

The class hadn’t done anything. He’d checked the homework he had assigned yesterday- he didn’t even scold the kids that hadn’t finished it. He just patted their shoulder and moved on.

He sat down at his desk, stared blankly at the pairs of eyes looking back at him, and put his head back in his hands.

His students had understood. One came over and hugged him- he hugged her back like she was his best friend, and he felt her exhale shakily into his shoulder.

Everyone else occupied themselves. Whispered conversations or entertainment via phone had occurred. A few students had situated themselves around him and tried to distract him- but nothing worked.

The only thing that distracted him was the door opening.

And the figure walking through it.

“Can I help you?” John had murmured, eyes glossed over and not- oh. Oh. “Oh.”

“Holy fuck!” One of the kids had yelled.

John lurched out of his chair and in a flash, he was standing by _Alex_ with his arms pulling the latter close to him- closer, closer- and then he was pushing him back- back as far as he could- he didn’t know where he was going- and then he was up against the wall and John was sobbing loudly into the crook of Alex’s neck and Alex was crying, too, but he was also rubbing a hand up and down John’s back and carding fingers through his hair and whispering sweet nothings in John’s ear even as his entire body shook and tears cascaded down his face, off his jaw.

“You- you-!” John cried, choking on his words as his throat closed up and he couldn’t breathe- couldn’t believe- everything was a blur- this couldn’t be real, this wasn’t real!

“It’s real,” Alex had whispered, his lips brushing against John’s ear- as if he knew exactly what John was thinking. “I’m real. I’m back. I’m okay. I love you.”

“Where- how?” John stuttered, pulling back from Alex for a split second before burying his face back into Alex’s chest and sobbing hysterically again.

“You have no idea- no idea! How many nights I spent crying on the floor, thinking I’d never see you again!” John muttered in-between gasps, managing to steady his voice just the slightest bit. “You have no idea how much it hurt, Alex! You were gone! Everyone thought you were dead! Two years, Alex.”

“I’m sorry John,” Alex had said, his voice finally cracking as he hid his face in John’s hair. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’ve thought about you every single damn day, Alex,” John growled. His voice was low and gravely and angry but pleading. Then more tears rolled down his cheeks and he gripped Alex’s jacket in his fists and yelled, “Every single day! I never knew what happened to you! No one told me anything! No one knew anything! We looked. We looked everywhere. Where the fuck were you? I needed you! I needed you. I need you.”

“You have me. You have me, I promise, I’m so sorry. You have me.”

John just shook his head before pressing himself back into Alex, hands digging into his side and back- and he cried more, ugly, loud, heaving sobs that wouldn’t stop for minutes. He couldn’t breathe, or think- was it real? It was real.

“I- I missed you. So, fucking much,” John managed. “I never fucking erased the board. Look! Look, you fucking asshole. Your writing is still on there! Two years ago, today! What the fuck, Alex?”

The latter just shook his head and then he was wrapped in another bone-crushing hug and all he could do was hug back as tight as he could because- fuck- he missed John too.

“It was out of my control,” Alex whispered. “I tried so hard to come back. Please believe me. I wanted nothing more than to be back with you.”

“Two years, Alex!”

“I know,” Alex said, voice breaking again and – dammit, more tears!

Then, John had jerked back into consciousness to find himself sat at his desk, head in his hands, and students looking at him with concern.

Then he’d started to cry, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lowkey sorry lowkey not 
> 
> vent. im in such a bad place mentally right now and i have no one to talk to right now so this'll do.


End file.
